Chapter 5 : Dile hola al diablo de mi parte.{Say hi to the devil for me}

Breanna Stewart stepped onto the Ozonic confinement scene like a phantom of vengeance, her presence a grim vision of danger and dominance.

She was dressed in tactical black skintight leather trousers, a matching vest that clung to her voluptuous figure.

Her silky black braid rested against her back, while a shoulder holster was secured over her toned arms, complementing the drop-leg holster at her thigh—each cradling a firearm.

She stepped over the caution tape, ignoring the lingering stares on her.

Some ogled her while others recognized the deadly efficiency in her stride and wisely stepped aside.

The fire squad had done their job, but the destruction was still raw with the stench of smoke and burnt flesh.

Breanna Stewart studied the rubbles meticulously, taking in the slightest detail.

Lightning crackled in the distance, illuminating the wreckage for a split second before plunging it back into the dim light of the searchlight.

She slightly adjusted the black sunglasses that concealed her sharp, almond-shaped eyes.

“How many victims did you record?”, she asked her Assistant.

“Umm..mm”, Sophia hesitated nervously, scanning the record on her tab.

“Ma'am....12, they are 12 in total”, she answered meekly, stepping back a little.

“Okay”, Breanna throated hoarsely, before approaching the bodies, her gloved hands steady as she crouched beside the corpses.

A white sheet covered what remained of the police men and Captain Morgan.

She reached out to pull the white sheet on the corpse, but a young officer hesitated beside her.

“Ma’am, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he chipped in.

Breanna scoffed at him because she wasn’t here for theatrics, but rather an investigation.

With a single motion, she lifted the sheet. The corpse was a distorted spectacle—charred flesh, twisted limbs. His mouth was frozen in a silent scream, eyes wide open in a permanent state of shock. Something was off.

Sophia who was standing behind Breanna felt her bowel stir in a nauseous manner but Breanna silenced her with a sharp glance.

“What's the burn classification?”,Breanna asked in a steel tone.

“First-degree, ma’am,” a forensic pathologist in a lab coat responded.

Breanna barely acknowledged her, already running a gloved finger along the blackened remains.

First-degree burns wouldn’t have killed him, not in a fire that consumed an entire structure.

Her gaze drifted lower, past the burnt flesh to the neck. And then she paused.

A precise, deep cut. The carotid artery was severed.

Breanna retrieved a penlight from her pocket. She angled the beam over the wound.

“Sweet Lord…” she muttered under her breath. The cut was clean and controlled, which implies that the fire wasn't the work of an arsonist.

A serrated blade would have left jagged edges but this was clean, and it left her mind with one suspect.

‘Blade knuckles’ .

With a slight inhalation, she signalled a hand motion at the forensic pathologist.

“Run a full autopsy,” she ordered. “I want results first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the forensic examiner replied, already signaling her team.

Straightening, Breanna turned sharply to the Lieutenant of the main Station.

“I need a week's list of all inmates booked at the main station”.

The lieutenant stiffened, his fingers tightening around his belt.

“I can’t release that information. It's classified.”

Breanna pulled off her dark shades and gave him a condescending look.

“You misunderstood me, Mister. That wasn’t a request.” She specified with authority.

“Send the Bio-Data to my office.” Her tone dropped dangerously.

Still, the Lieutenant didn’t move. Instead, he exhaled heavily and slumped into his chair, feigning ignorance.

Breanna studied him for a moment, but then her patience snapped.

She pulled out her phone and made a single call to Headquarters.The effect was immediate.

The Lieutenant’s phone buzzed. His expression turned ghostly pale as he read the message.

His suspension had just been processed. Headquarters wasn’t lenient with officers who obstructed federal investigations.

The moment of realization flashed across his face—then anger took over.

“Are you being serious, Mujercita {old lady}?”, he snapped in a mix of Spanish and English, standing abruptly. “You think you can just—”

In a last, desperate act of defiance, he lunged at her, but Breanna had anticipated it.

She sidestepped, before he even fully extended his arm.

Then in a precise reflex, she struck his wrist away and pivoted, landing a sharp, controlled kick to his ribs.

The man sprawled to the floor, clutching his ribs while groaning in pain.

The witnesses were awed by Breanna's agility, but before anyone could react, the crackle of thunder echoed—reminding them it was time to take the corpses to the Morgue.

With a unreadable sigh, Breanna dusted off her gloves and looked down at the Lieutenant,

“I will forgive you since it's your first attempt.... next time, I will make sure that an ambulance takes you with them” She threatened coolly.

“Moreover, I don’t like repeating myself. Send the files.” She shot a glance at her assistant. “We’re done here.”

And with that, she turned, already dialing another number.

The fire outbreak of the Ozonic Station wasn't an isolated act of violence.

It was a message, and if it happens to link to Blade Knuckles. Then she has bigger problems to deal with.

The Lieutenant officer however stared at her retreating figure.

He thought he could claim ascendancy over her, but it turned out that he picked the wrong person.

<-Gulf of New Mexico-> That same night:

The Sea surface was rough with waves but Grinch skillfully steered the speed boat conveying him and Antonio across, his hands steady on the wheel.

A sudden wave tumbled beneath them, lifting the boat violently before slamming it back down.

The impact sent a sharp spray of saltwater into the air, but Grinch barely flinched.

He adjusted the lever with the ease of a man who had ridden through worse storms.

Antonio, on the other hand, gripped the boat's metal railing with one hand, while the rough sea breeze whipped through his hair sparsely.

Holding the rail made his memory drift briefly to the marigold hair woman he met earlier at the Airport.

Her desperate call for help while clutching that rail was what he couldn't erase since he got back from that mission.

Lightning crackled overhead, casting a brief flash on his chiseled features.

“Tsk—the storm is already here” Antonio snarled with a hiss.

Lucas had suddenly summoned him late in the night.

He would have turned it down considering that he just came back from Arizona. But then, night-time is always the perfect time for Mafia's to strike out their deals,

“Want a smoke ?”, Grinch's deep exhalation cut through Antonio's thoughts.

One look at him, he was holding up a pack of cigarettes.

Antonio cracked his knuckles, the sound barely audible over the crashing waves.

“Nah, tengo ganas de una chica Búlgara.” {Nah—I'm craving a Bulgarian pu**y}. He blurted, without mincing words.

“Cabrón {Badass}”, Grinch complimented with a mischievous smirk. “Little wonder—why you were so adamant in saving her”.

“Güey {Dumbass}, You say that like it’s a bad thing." Antonio slammed a playful punch at Grinch.

“It's really bad, Knuckles”, Grinch throated with a chuckle.

Antonio responded him with a feigned frustration,

“Palooka !, Bruno tiene sus gustos” {-Man!, A gangster has his preferences-}.

The two men erupted into deep throated chuckles, the sound barely audible to the raging storm.

Meanwhile Lucas was busy with an interrogation in the Ship's Cabin.

“Why did you breach the Omertà {code of secrecy}?” His voice echoed in the cavernous space.

A single overhead bulb swung lazily, and casted on a man who was bound by ropes that dug into his wrists.

His breaths were shallow while his face glistened with sweat.

He tilted his head at a 180° and sighed, his fellow errand men loomed like silent statues, their faces unreadable while their hands rested casually on holstered weapons.

“Don!, I swear—I never sold the gang's secret to Vincenzo”, the man maintained with a mask of sincerity.

Lucas' sharp and menacing silhouette leaned closer to the man, his cold and calculating eyes boring into the man's unwavering demeanor.

The man's guarded resolve trembled under the intensity of Lucas' gaze.

“Come on man chill!, you look wack as hell,” Lucas replied smugly, looking towards the turbulent sea.

“Here take a drag”, Lucas offered the man a cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

The man took a long drag, but the false sense of security was shattered as Lucas ran his fingers over the tools on the table, one by one.

“Don, le juro que.... digo la verdad. {Don, I swear I'm telling the truth}.” The man stuttered in a panicking tone.

“¿Dije que estás mintiendo?.{Did I say you're lying?}” Lucas replied smoothly, but the man recognized the threat in it.

“Bring in the 'Madonna' {Bring in the Lady}”, Lucas ordered no one in particular.

MEANWHILE ANTONIO'S BOAT searchlight glinted off the black water, illuminating the silhouettes of Lucas' ship.

Antonio 'Blade Knuckles' adjusted his shirt, and his indifferent reputation preceded him—

silent, ruthless, and never leaving loose ends.

He and Grinch both got off their boat and hopped onto Lucas' ship.

The men on guard bowed in a supplication of humility as the void made flesh, a walking embodiment of doom stomped pass them towards the Cabin.

“— your grudges are with me, not my girl ” a man's pleading voice resonated into Antonio's ear as he stepped into the Cabin.

Through the faint glow of the bulb, one can easily see the hard lines on Antonio's face.

His sharp eyes scanned the atmosphere of the room,

—A steel toolbox lay open on the table, its contents gleaming under the single light, and a lady in her early twenties was under Carlos' submission, gags and cuffs strapped on her.

Lucas rested back on his chair immediately he felt Antonio's dominating presence.

Antonio walked over to him and descended to his knees ,gripping his hand with both of his.

His voice was quiet but firm, filled with reverence.

“Bendíceme, Don. Mi lealtad es suya. {-Bless me, Don. My loyalty is yours-}”, he respectfully brushed his lip on Lucas' hand.

“Levántate Blade {Rise Blade}”, Lucas acknowledged, and Antonio nestled onto the arm of Lucas' armchair.

“Apache! Why are there ?” Antonio asked their errand man who was bound to the chair.

“He's the stool pigeon {snitch} of our gang” Lucas' cleared the air, “He sold the gang's secret to Vincenzo”.

“Tsk..”, Antonio clinked his tongue in disappointment. “Fugazy Apache, {Fake Apache}”. Antonio cursed.

Without another word, he rolled his sleeves up slowly and deliberately— he approached the man, his motion as threatening as cocking a gun.

The ground seemed to recoil beneath Apache, as though it wanted no part of the punishment Antonio is about to unleash.

He cut the man loose from the binds and dragged him out towards the deck.

Lucas flared up at the same time, following him.

“Don!”, Carlos called in a meek tone and Lucas turned to face him with a knowing look.

“Go ahead and Explore her, She is all yours”, Lucas permitted.

Without waiting for another second, Carlos threw her legs apart and explored. His hands rummaged through her contours.

Outside, the wail of a foghorn and raging wave punctuated the scene, a reminder to Apache of how far he's from safety.

“Knuckles' just one more chance...please just one” the man pleaded frantically

Antonio nodded with a shrug while tying the man's leg.

Everyone in the Medina crime gang knew how ruthless disciplinary actions for snitch were, and now their underboss 'Blade knuckles' is taking charge for it.

“Any last wish?”, Antonio finally spoke, placing a hand on Apache's shoulder.

“My daughter!”, the man stuttered hesitantly, the thought of his death penalty flashing through his memory in an instant.

“Por favor, protege su honor restante. {Please protect her remaining honour}”. The man requested because according to the gang's rules,

'Any one that breaches an Omertà, his wife and children will be forced into prostitution'.

“Yeah sure”, Antonio promised. “Dile hola al diablo de mi parte.{Say hi to the devil for me}”

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation when, without warning Antonio lowered the peacher {snitch} into the sea near the propeller of the ship.

“Squish! Squash!!” It was the sound of the propeller squishing Apache's body.

The burst of violence made everyone on the deck flinch, the unpredictability amplifying the fear.

“Great job Knuckle’s”, Lucas commended, looking at the blood coated surface.